


City on Fire

by Binary_Sunset



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Background Het, Implied Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Madds Mickelson is Grindelwald, Murder, Percival Graves is Modesty's Father, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sweeney Todd AU, blink and you'll miss it tho, it's sweeney todd yall, specifically Original Percival Graves/OFC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-12 03:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18003116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binary_Sunset/pseuds/Binary_Sunset
Summary: Benjamin Barker (alias: Percival Graves) returns to London after nearly twenty years in the Australian Penal Colony for a false charge.  He returns to London to find that his wife is dead and his daughter is in the clutches of his mortal enemy.And if only that was where his troubles ended.





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> When SweetSorcery came up with the Johnny Depp Replacement Challenge, it struck me as the perfect opportunity to set right the lacklustre job Burton did of adapting the original musical.
> 
> Now don't get me wrong, the Sweeney Todd movie is perfectly acceptable on its own, but as someone who loves the musical, there are a few things it missed. Namely a lead who can actually sing and all of Sondheim's nut-worthy chords for the chorus pieces.
> 
> My Musical Theatre Bitching aside, here's the fic! Even if you're familiar with the musical, the ending is going to be a bit different from what you're expecting. I've streamlined the plot quite a bit here and had to remove a few characters to suit my nefarious purposes.
> 
> Title is stolen from [the song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HxPQKaIoM4g&list=PL72299F7E3B7EBE71&index=13) from Act II of the musical, which is sadly butchered in the film. There's also another musical theatre reference in this chapter. See if you can spot it!

It’s a dreary day when Percival Graves returns to London. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. It wasn’t like there was going to be any fanfair for an escaped prisoner’s secret return, but it still disappointed him somehow. He’d been away for seventeen years, and in all that time spent growing bitter and angry, he’d managed to forget just how miserable London really was.

The sailor he was travelling with seemed to have a different impression. He nudged Percival’s shoulder with a great smile on his face. “There’s no place like London is there, Mister Graves?”

For a moment, Grave envied the boy (for he was little more than a boy). He had so much happiness and youthful vigor. It was only a matter of time before the world crushed him beyond repair. He wished it wasn’t so, but such was the nature of life these days.

Graves groaned and leaned against the railing of the steamship. “Yes, I suppose.”

“You don’t seem particularly excited about it, sir,” the sailor prodded. Graves felt he should have been annoyed by it, but it seemed so sweet and genuine that he let it slide.

“I can’t say I’ve seen a single good thing come out of that wretched hole of filth,” he advised. “You’d be wise not to stay here too long, lest it suck the life out of you as well.”

The sailor sat back on the railing, trying to keep his balance as the ship finish docking. “But isn’t this where you were headed, sir?”

“Unfortunately. I have some unfinished business to attend to. Should you need anything, you can always find me on Fleet Street.” He reached into his coat pocket, slipped the boy a few notes, and walked out into the city for the first time in seventeen years.

So much of it was the same as he’d left it. Though many of the buildings had been boarded up since he was gone and only a scant few of the businesses he remembered still remained, he could make his way back to Fleet Street by touch and instinct alone if he had to.

How long he’d dreamt of this day! How many nights had he longed to see his wife and daughter again, hold them in his arms and apologise for being gone? Now he had the chance to make it up to them, to be the father he’d always meant to be.

But as he turned the corner onto Fleet Street and approached his old property, his heart nearly stopped. Perhaps it had been foolish of him to think that he could just pick his life up where he left off, but this?

The building was dilapidated, a shell of its former self. The steps up to his former living quarters were covered in a fine layer of ash and soot from the nearby factory, clearly having been left to rot for years. Where Percival’s proud barber shop had once stood, there was now a sad little pie shop with a crooked sign, the painted letters starting to fade. It read “Barebone Meat Pies” in elegant script.

Perhaps, then, Lucy had moved and taken their daughter with her. That made sense. They’d probably need a smaller place, now that Percy didn’t have a barber shop to run. He hoped to himself that neither of them had needed to take a job in the factories, that they’d managed to find some other way of making ends meet. Being able to provide for his family had been one of Percy’s points of pride before he’d been imprisoned. It stung to know that it may have been one more thing that Grindelwald had taken from him….

No need to jump to conclusions yet. Perhaps this Barebone fellow knew something. Percival took a breath and attempted to steal himself before entering the establishment.

The bell rang overhead, and as Percival stepped into the shop, he was greeted with a young man who seemed to be attempting to pummel a hot water crust into submission. The rest of the shop was absolutely empty, covered in the same mix of dust and ash that seemed to cover the rest of London these days.

The man was twenty-five at most, with pale skin and wavy dark hair. He wore it long, like a dandy, though it was currently dusted with flour and pulled out of his face. Graves would be lying to himself if he didn’t say that he was quite handsome, with his delicate features, square jaw, and plush lips. Though as soon as the thought came, he tried to push it out of his mind. It may have been seventeen years, but he was still a married man after all.

The man looked up, and Percival was especially taken by his dark eyes. They looked like a doe’s eyes. It just wasn’t fair for a man to be that beautiful. Though, the words that came out of his mouth were anything but.

“Tell me, are these the worst pies in London or have I gone daft?”

Percival raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

He gestured frustratedly to a tray of pies. They were fresh out of the oven, and didn’t exactly look appetising. The crust somehow managed to be both burnt and soggy at the same time, and the filling that spilled out in places looked to be more fat than actual meat. “Go ahead, take one. It’s not like they’re selling. I’ll throw them all out once they start going bad, so it’s no skin off my nose.”

Percival picked the most edible-looking one carefully and took a bite out of it. While the crust was cooked well enough to be mostly crunchy, the liquid that oozed out of it was absolutely flavourless. There were no satisfying chunks of meat to make it feel like a meal either, just pure fat.

Without thinking better of it, he spit it out on the ground and frantically wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “There’s no meat in it!”

The man, seemingly satisfied with his pie crust, moved it aside and leaned on the counter, flour sticking to his elbows. “Exactly. They raised the price a few months ago, and now no one will buy them. Whole damn place is going under. You’re the first customer I’ve seen in weeks.”

Percival put the remains of his pie on the table. “Unfortunately, I haven’t come to sample your wares. There’s a room upstairs, isn’t there? Are you renting it out?”

The man sighed and pushed a tray of pies into the oven. “Well, that’s one hell of a story. Feel like joining me for a gin while I explain?”

Percival nodded, and he was soon whisked into the next room, sat on a dusty, plush chair, and given a glass half filled with clear liquid. He took a sip while he watched the man fill up his own. It was, in fact, gin.

The man on the chair opposite him, leaving the bottle on the table. “Funny you should ask about that old room, really. Most folks around here say it’s haunted.”

Graves raised an eyebrow. “Haunted?” He’d lived in that very room for years and had never once seen a ghost.

He took a sip of the gin. “Indeed. There used to be a barber’s shop on this property. I don’t know all the details of what happened, but he was a kind man, with a beautiful wife and a daughter he doted on. Idyllic life, really. Problem with a life like that is there’s always someone looking to leech off of it. There was a judge, a cruel man, who coveted the barber’s wife more than anything else. When the barber happened to be sent away, the judge would come to call on her every night. But she wouldn’t let him in.”

Graves nodded. That sounded like his Lucy alright. She distrusted Judge Grindelwald as much as he did, if not moreso.

“And, of course, he visited her every night… until one day he didn’t. Where the judge usually was, the Beadle, Abernathy, was in his place, telling the wife that she had to come with him immediately. It was a matter of the law, he said, and of vital importance. And the wife trusted him, poor thing. But where he was leading her was no agent of the law, but, rather, a den of sin.”

Graves started to feel his blood boil. “What?”

“The judge had thrown a ball masque that very night, and the wife was lead straight into it. And when that man ruined her virtue, everyone was there to watch. And all they did was laugh and celebrate. They all considered the debauchery part of the festivities.”

Graves didn’t mean to, but he felt tears start to well up in his eyes and start to drip down his cheeks. He could just imagine her, so trusting and sweet, not knowing what she was being tricked into. The fact that Grindelwald abused her good nature and used it to hurt her in such an intimate way… He couldn’t tell whether he was crying from sadness or anger. “What became of her? What became of my Lucy?”

The man put a hand on his shoulder. “She continued to live in that room and came whenever the judge called her. Hated every minute of it. Then, one day, she said she’d had enough. Took a tonic of arsenic from the apothecary around the corner.” He handed Graves a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. “I’m sorry, Mister Barker.”

Graves froze at the mention of his old name. “How did you know? And it’s Graves now. Percival Graves.”

“I had an inkling. No one comes in here anymore, and even fewer people ask about the room upstairs. Everyone local knows the story, and everyone new learns it soon enough.” He topped off Graves’ glass of gin. “I’m sorry it had to be me that told you. I wish the whole bloody thing had never happened, if I’m being honest.”

He dried his eyes and had another gulp of the liquor. “And what about my daughter? Modesty?”

“The judge still has her. She’s his ward now, since Lucy’s gone and you’re supposed to be serving a life sentence.” He sighed. “She sits in her window in the room he’s made for her, singing sadly to herself as she watches the people below. It’s a shame Grindelwald never lets her out, really. She’s a lovely girl. Clever as her father and sweet as her mother.”

“And how do you know that?” Graves hadn’t meant for it to come out as aggressive as it had. But now that he knew this young man had been so close to his daughter, and after knowing what Grindelwald had done to Lucy… It touched a raw nerve.

He just smiled and laughed. “Please, don’t misinterpret me. I have no untoward intentions towards your daughter. She just needed a friend, and I was there for her. She’s like a sister to me. I swear it on my own life.” He finished his glass and got up. “Anyway, I’d be more than happy to lend you the room free of charge. It was yours to begin with, after all.”

“And who might I have the pleasure of renting from?”

The man smiled and held out his hand. “Credence Barebone. You probably don’t remember me from the old days, but Lucy used to pay me to run errands while she was taking care of Modesty.” He laughed as Graves took his hand. “I was quite a little urchin back then. I’d be surprised if you remembered me.”

But Graves did remember him. He was a dirty little thing, stick-thin and wearing rags with the worst haircut Graves had ever seen. How funny it was, that he’d grown up into such a lovely young man. “No, I remember. Lucy used to dote on you, even before we had Modesty.”

He smiled. “That sounds like her. She was such a lovely soul.”

Credence put a hand on his shoulder. “I can show you where she’s buried, if you want to say goodbye.”

Graves considered it for a moment. He still hadn’t quite fully comprehended that Lucy was well and truly gone. “I… I’d like that. But I’d like to see the room first.”

Credence nodded and lead him up the stairs to the old room. It was covered in that same ashy dust, clearly having been abandoned for quite some time. Credence had walked over to shake the dust out of the old curtains, but that wasn’t what drew Graves’ attention.

No, that honour went to the crib, tucked in a far corner of the room. He’d remembered building it himself, with wood he’d purchased in the country. Back when everything had been, fine, before Grindelwald had decided to ruin his life. Now here it was, left in a room that no one had seen in ages, and the girl it belonged to was on the other side of London, imprisoned by a cruel guardian.

He felt that familiar pressure well up in his chest when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Graves looked over and saw Credence, smiling gently. “We’ll get her back, Mister Graves. I’ll make sure of that.” The young man lifted up his free hand and offer up an ornate box. “In the meantime, I think it’s time I gave these back to you. You’re no barber without them, after all.”

Graves gently took the box from Credence’s hands and opened it up. Inside were his razors, neat and tidy as the day he’d put them away. He took one out of the case and held it up to the light, watching the light reflect off of it. It set off some manic satisfaction in him, seeing such a sharp implement in his hand once more.

And, oh, the power it gave him. He was a tradesman, and these were his tools, kept clean and sharp so they would do his delicate work. Graves may not have had a wife and daughter waiting for him, but at least Credence had kept his old friends safe for him.

“My arm is whole again.”

He saw Credence’s reflection smile in the blade of the razor, then step towards him. “Welcome home, Mister Graves.”

 

* * *

 

The Pirelli affair had been Credence’s idea. The man had, apparently, become a staple of the London markets since Percival’s departure. According to Credence, he claimed not only to be the greatest barber in all of London, but also to sell a tonic that could make hair grow.

Credence had figured that Graves would be more than capable of defeating Pirelli in a contest of barbers.

“Sure, he claims to be the greatest in Europe.” Credence squeezed his arm. “But you’re the greatest  _ period _ . And now that you’re back in London, you can make a big deal of showing it. And  _ think _ of the publicity!”

And that was how they’d ended up in this massive marketplace, watching Pirelli (who Graves suspected wasn’t even Italian) hawking his bottle of “miracle elixir” from his comfortable perch on the stage. 

As Pirelli passed out bottles of his “marvelous” snake oil, Graves scanned the crowd. He saw a familiar man, a slimy little toad that had always been at Grindelwald’s side. He looked exactly as he had the day he’d arrested Graves, if a bit grayer and somehow greasier. The fact that he was still freely walking the streets of London after what he’d done to Lucy just made Graves’ blood boil. He would’ve walked over and punched the man, if it wouldn’t have gotten him arrested.

Graves grabbed Credence’s arm and leaned in to whisper to him. “That’s Abernathy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“I’m tweaking the plan.”

Credence blinked. “Okay. Just… please don’t kill anyone.”

Graves chuckled. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Finally, the bottle made its way to the back of the group, where Credence got his hands on it. He held it up to the sunlight, letting it shine through the slightly-cloudy, yellowish liquid.

He curled his lip into a sneer. “It looks like piss.” His voice was just loud enough to be heard by the crowd.

Percival grabbed it, popped the cork off, and gave it a sniff. The acrid smell of ammonia filled his nose, and Credence’s suspicions were confirmed. “Yeah, that’s piss.”

A few people started to look over to see what the commotion was about, so Percival projected a bit more.

“It’s piss with ink. He’s selling you piss.”

As people started to turn away from Pirelli and towards Graves, the man let out a great bellow.

“Who says my elixir is piss!?”

Percival took a breath and stood proudly. “Percival Graves. And I bet I could shave a cheek better than any man in this city.”

“He has a shop above my pie store on Fleet Street,” Credence cut in.

Pirelli chuckled. “Oh, a betting man, are you? And what do you have to wager?”

Graves held his razor high above the crowd. “It’s pure silver.”

The swindler’s eyes lit up the moment he saw the blade. Even a man as untalented as this would have been able to see the value of such a fine instrument. “You have a deal.”

Percival gestured to Abernathy. “Beadle Abernathy, as a fair agent of the law, surely you are best fit to judge this competition, are you not?”

The man preened at the praise, and Graves had never wanted to punch a man more in his life. “It would be an honour, Mister Graves.” He stood up on stage, as Pirelli picked two men from the audience.

The Beadle brushed the dust from his suit and straightened his tie. “Alright. The fastest, cleanest shave will be the winner. On your mark, get set, go!”

And what happened next would be told through the city of London for years to come. It was Pirelli, who most people were looking at. As he sharpened his razor, he prattled on.

“Oh, what an honour it is to shave the face! To trim a beard! To leave a man looking better than when he first came in to see you! How marvelous it is, to have this profession! I am uncertain of what I have done to deserve such high esteem as a barber to some of the greatest men Europe has ever known!”

And then, as he mixed up his shaving foam, he continued.

“Ah yes, among then, one of the most important men I have ever known! Now you know that I am a good Italian Catholic, so it was an honour to shave a member of the clergy himself! And oh, what a fine clergyman he was! You see, Mister Graves here, he will tell you no such thing happened, that I merely shaved a cardinal, but I assure you, it was the Pope himself! I even have a portrait that he signed for me! Such a lovely man, the Pope. Such a handsome beard.”

By the time he’d actually brought out his razor, the man on Graves’ side was already wiping his face off with a towel, clean shaven and without so much as a nick. Abernathy, seeing that the job was complete, gestured to Percival.

“The winner is Mister Percival Graves!”

The crowd cheered, and Percival gave a quick bow.

He and the Beadle exited the stage together.

“You know, Mister Graves,” Abernathy said, “I’ve been looking for a good barber for quite some time. I assure you, you’ll be seeing me in your shop before the week is out!”

He disappeared into the crowd before Graves could get another word out of him.

 

* * *

 

Percival was pacing so badly, he was sure he’d wear a rut into the floorboards of Credence’s kitchen.

“Percival, you need to calm down,” Credence advised.

Graves slammed his hands on the table. He didn’t mean to, but it felt like the only way to release the tension that was building inside of him. “Abernathy said he’d be here before the week was out!”

“It’s Tuesday, Percival. The week’s hardly out.”

He just groaned and sat down on one of the stools. “I know that, it’s just… The man who tricked my wife is coming into  _ my _ shop. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I supposed to do with  _ him _ ?”

“You could feed him one of my pies, that’d be one hell of a revenge.” When Graves didn’t laugh, Credence put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll take that money and we’ll buy some flowers, and take to down to the cemetery where Lucy is buried and we’ll give them to her.”

Graves snorted out of his nose. “She’s been dead for almost twenty years, and I’m blubbering like it just happened.”

“The wound in still fresh for you. You’re allowed to mourn.” Credence gently squeezed him. “Trust me, I miss her too.”

They locked eye for a moment, and it looked like Credence was going to say something more, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Credence pointed to Graves. “You get it. You know it’s not for me.”

Graves opened the door, half expecting it to be Abernathy, and was greeted by a familiar face.

It was Pirelli, the schiester from the marketplace.

Graves raised an eyebrow. “Have you come for a shave?”

“Am I not allowed to congratulate the superior barber?” his accent seemed… off somehow. Perhaps he really wasn’t Italian. “Come, show me your workspace.”

Graves knew something was going on here, but he wasn’t sure what. He took the path of least resistance and just did as the man said.

Once they were alone in the room together, Pirelli closed the door. “You know, Mister Graves, you’re quite the showman. Surely you could give me a run for my money. Perhaps we should go into business together.” His Italian accent was completely gone now, replaced by a middle class English one.

Graves snorted. “That was more of a one-time thing for me. Grift isn’t my trade.”

Pirelli hummed. “Well, barbering is mine, even if you did manage to make a fool of me. Perhaps I should just take half the profits from this fine establishment instead, if you’ll indulge me.”

Take  _ his _ hard earned money? What the hell was this man getting at? “Over my dead body.”

Pirelli took a step towards him, pinning Graves against the wall. “Oh, I wouldn’t speak so soon, Mister Benjamin Barker.”

With that, Percival’s mind just… broke. He’d been so careful to hide who he was since he came back from Australia. And yet this man, this no-talent carnival barker had somehow figured it out.

“You probably don’t remember me, do you. I was one of your rivals’ apprentices, back when I went by Sam, before this whole Italian schtick took off.” He chuckled. “And I’ll admit, you would’ve fooled me. But I’d recognise those blades anywhere.”

The blades. He had one in his back pocket right now. He’d been sharpening it before having lunch with Credence, and he must’ve left it there without thinking. Now its weight and shape suddenly became very pronounced.

“I think the law,” Sam continued, “would be very interested to know that a wanted criminal was back in London, renting his own house from that pretty little invert--”

And that’s when Graves saw red.  _ No one _ was going to send him back to Australia. Not Grindelwald, and certainly not some two-bit snake oil salesman. And how dare he talk about Credence that way.

Without even thinking, Graves grabbed Sam by the neck and shoved him against the wall. “Don’t you dare.”

He smiled sinisterly. “Oh, I dare. If you don’t give me my money, I’ll march my way over to the Judge’s estate myself. Rumour has it that he has the loveliest little ward--”

Sam didn’t get to finish that sentence. Graves’ razor had found its mark across his neck, and he was bleeding out.

Graves dropped Sam’s body, which hit the floorboards like a sack of bricks. It felt like only a moment passed before Credence was at the door, but he knew it had to be longer than that.

“Percy? I heard a commotion? Is everything--” He stopped speaking when he saw the body on the floor. He then walked over, careful not to step in the pooling blood, and grabbed Graves’ shoulder. “We need to talk. Now.”

Graves allowed himself to be pulled into Credence’s kitchen.

“What happened up there?” he asked as soon as the were safely tucked into the room. “Why is there a dead Italian in the room above my pie shop?”

“He’s not Italian,” Graves muttered. “He apprenticed for an old rival of mine. Called you an invert.”

Credence crossed his arms. “You think I don’t hear that shit all the time? I can take care of myself. You didn’t have to kill a man to preserve my honour. I hardly have any left.”

“He tried to blackmail me. He knew me from the old days. Wanted to take half my revenue or else he’d tell the judge.”

“Oh.” Credence let out a breath. “Well, I guess what’s done is done. We can’t exactly un-kill him. How are we going to dispose of the body?”

Graves thought a moment. Pirelli would be recognisable to anyone who’d seen him before, which was most of the city at this point… “We’ll take him out to the city limits under cover of darkness. Bury him in a shallow grave and then return before daylight.”

Credence was just starting out the window, silently. “It seems an awful waste, doesn’t it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I mean… with the price of meat what it is, it seems an awful waste just to bury it in the ground.” He walked over to Graves. “And I mean.. That’s all we are in the end, isn’t? Just a big hunk of meat?”

Graves wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with the current state of London, either. But what Credence was suggesting… It just felt wrong.

Credence, seemingly unperturbed by this, grabbed Graves’ hand and brought him to the window. It was the middle of the day, and plenty of people were milling about the shops. “You know what I see here?”

“Fleet Street?”

“I see a world where the dog eats the dog, Percy. Where it’s eat or be eaten, especially for men like us. For whatever reason, we were born with targets on our backs. Haven’t each and every one of these people wronged us?”

Percival remembered the trial. The evidence was so weak, anyone would’ve found him innocent. And yet, he’d still been sentenced to life. He thought of Lucy at the party, how Grindelwald had hurt her and not a single person lifted a hand to stop him. Finally, he thought of Modesty, sitting in the judge’s window, looking at passersby and waiting for someone to help.

They’d all done nothing. And that was just Graves’ immediate family! How had they hurt Credence? How had they harmed the other people in their lives?

He saw Credence smile. “It’s our duty to serve our fellow man, isn’t it?”

Graves felt himself starting to laugh. He knew the whole thing was so monumentally immoral. And yet, it was the most powerful he’d felt since he’d been sent away. Without even thinking, he grabbed Credence by the waist and drew him close. “Isn’t that all of human history, my dear? Those above serving those down below?”

Credence laughed and his face flushed. “I mean, just  _ imagine _ all the flavours, Percy. Everyone needs a shave, so there’d be plenty of variety. And if anything, aren’t we giving them true equality? Serving anyone  _ to _ anyone?”

“Oh of course. And if I may make one request, let me know when we have judge on the menu.”

They both got a good chuckle out of that, their faces slowly coming closer. But, before they were within kissing distance, Credence broke away.

“Um, I should get the pies ready. You know, before the meat goes bad.”

Graves cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. You… you go do that. I’ll try and clean up.”


	2. Act II

And with that, Barebone Meat Pies went from a small, sad establishment to the talk of London. He was selling out almost every day, zipping around the shop to get everyone their orders. In between clients, Graves would watch him from the window and smile to himself, seeing not only his but also his friend’s business succeed. It didn’t improve his outlook on London: it was still the city that empowered a man like Grindelwald, after all, but Credence looked happier than ever. And, really, that was all Graves found himself really caring about in that moment.

After hours, though, he found himself pacing again in his shop. With Credence busy grinding meat for the pies, Graves was often alone with his thoughts, and they tended to come back to Modesty, still trapped in that awful judge’s house.

Credence had walked in on Graves during one of those moments, with a pint of ale.

He had entered without knocking, and Graves knew he must’ve looked like a mess. He’d been running his fingers through his hair, leaving it disheveled and messy. He was also certain he looked like he hadn’t slept in several days.

“I heard you pacing” was all he said, before pressing the cup into Graves’ hand.

He took a gulp of the beer, letting the bitter taste sit with him for a while. “Thanks.”

Credence sat down on top of the counter, seemingly unafraid of Graves’ sharper implements. “I was thinking, it’s probably not good for either of us to be stuck this murder house for such a long time.”

Graves took another drink from his glass of beer. “What do you suppose?”

“Well, I’ve made enough in the last week to cover rent, so how about we close up shop tomorrow and go somewhere nice? Just to help get rid of your cabin fever.”

He wasn’t expecting “somewhere nice” to be Lucy’s grave, but he found it oddly comforting. He’d worried that Grindelwald would have done something drastic, erected some giant monument, perhaps a chest with a weeping angel draped on top of it. Instead, it was just a modest granite headstone, inscribed with her dates and embellished with a carving of a cloth-draped urn, flanked by a pair of calla lilies.

Percy approached the headstone and gently traced her name.

_ Lucille Marina Edwards Barker _

_ 1803 - 1829 _

_ Loving wife and mother, dearly missed _

He sighed and placed the flowers they’d brought right in front of it. “I can’t believe she’s really gone.”

Credence squoze Graves’ bicep. “I can’t either. The Judge wouldn’t even buy her a headstone, you know. He chased after this woman her whole life, and he couldn’t even spare the funds to inter her properly. Wanted to throw her in a pauper’s grave.”

Percy whirled around and looked at him. “Wait, if Grindelwald didn’t put this here, then who did?”

“I did,” Credence explained. “One of the urchins I used to know is an undertaker’s apprentice now. He was able to help me give her a proper burial. I didn’t know what she would have wanted, so I tried to take my best guess.”

Percy felt his face flushed. Even a modest headstone like this couldn’t have been cheap. But it was just how Lucy would have wanted to be remembered: with something elegant and beautiful. He could even appreciate that Credence had carefully sidestepped the way that she died.

“You’re a good man, Credence. Modesty and Lucy were lucky to have you looking out for them.”

“I was just trying to do as much as I could while you were gone. Without you here, I just…” He started to ring his hands. “I wanted to take care of them the way you would have. It was so hard for me to watch them take you away, it felt like the only thing I  _ could _ do to set things right.”

Graves put his own hand over Credence’s to cease the nervous movement. “You did a lovely job, and I’m not sure I can ever properly repay you.”

Credence blushed and tried to avoid eye contact with Graves. “I… I mean, you don’t have to worry about that. Lucy and Mo… you know, they’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a family and you… You know, you were always so kind to me--” He cut himself off as Graves moved his hand up to cup his cheek.

“Am I reading this correctly?” Percy felt Credence’s skin heat up beneath his palm. The poor boy felt nearly feverish.

It was clear Credence was in love. One doesn’t buy a headstone and look after the ward of a powerful political figure simply out of the good of their heart. Whether it was with himself or Lucy, Percy wasn’t entirely sure. But they were here now, two fools sitting in an empty graveyard, away from passersby. It was worth a try.

Credence was ethereally beautiful, smart, kind, and generous. Percy would be a fool not to fall for him. Before he was a widower, he attentions rarely, if ever, strayed, despite his attraction to men. Now, though…

He supposed if Lucy had any problem with it, she would have sent some sort of sign. But whatever it might have been, it never came.

An answer, instead, came from Credence’s shaky voice. “No, you’re not wrong.”

Percy leaned forward and brushed his lips gently against Credence’s. The boy was quick to kiss back, though he kept it mostly chaste.

They only kissed for a brief moment before parting, just to ensure that they weren’t seen. They smiled at each other in the stillness of the cemetery.

“Isn’t kissing in a cemetery a little gholish for you?” Credence asked, his tone clearly tongue-in-cheek.

“What can I say? Australia changes a man.” He laid a hand on Credence’s face and ran his thumb along his cheekbone. “Though, considering our current enterprise, I think we’re both more than a little ghoulish.”

Credence smiled and looked out into the city. “Yeah, speaking of that, when are we going to be done?”

Graves snorted. “What do you mean  _ done _ ? This is the best thing to happen to me in years!”

“I know that, but, this can’t last forever.  _ Someone’s _ going to start asking questions, you know. And Modesty is getting closer to marrying age by the day.”

Graves’ heart nearly stopped at the mention of his daughter’s marriage. “What do you mean by that?” He couldn’t be implying…

Credence took a breath. “Grindelwald intends to marry your daughter, Percival. If he can’t have Lucy, Mo is the next best thing to a man like him. Why do you think he made her his ward to begin with?”

Percy felt the bile rise in his throat. It was awful enough that the Judge had defiled his wife and taken his daughter, but now he was trying to have even more control over her. That man was  _ never _ satisfied.

“But Modesty turns 18 in--”

“A month,” Credence finished. “I know. And by that time, I’ll probably have enough to take care of my debts and abscond to the countryside. I’m sure we can take Modesty but we’ll have to take care of--”

“The judge and the beadle.” Graves took a breath. “You leave that to me.”

Credence smiled devilishly, something that should have looked out-of-place with his delicate features. Somehow it made him all the more handsome.   
  


* * *

 

 

The next few weeks passed by as normal, with Graves continuing to shave everyone who’d pay and Credence making his meat pies. What was once unthinkably insidious and ghoulish now seemed incredibly ordinary. Sometimes, Graves would find himself thinking about how odd it was, usually after slitting a man’s throat with a razor and throwing him down the chute to Credence’s bakehouse. But most days, it was just business as usual for the both of them.

At night, when Credence wasn’t grinding meat in the bakehouse, they’d be scheming, trying to figure out how to lure the Judge and his lackey into their clutches. Credence had taken up visiting Modesty whenever he could, trying to avoid getting caught.

The first time he’d gone, he’d brought a letter from Graves to Modesty, who had nearly cried while she read it. Since then, he’d acted as messenger, passing letters back and forth between each other. She seemed to be doing remarkably well, despite the iron grip Grindelwald seemed to have on her. It warned Graves’ heart to know that the baby girl he’d left so many years ago had grown into such a strong young woman. He hoped some day he’d be able to hold her in his arms again. For now, though, the letters would have to do.

After hours, Graves found himself in Credence’s kitchen, helping to concoct a plan over a bottle of gin. It had taken a few weeks to make sure everything was in place, but they were ready to start enacting it the day Modesty turned eighteen.

That morning, it was the Beadle’s turn to go. Percy had caught him on patrol earlier that week and invited him to the shop for a shave. The slimy young man would no longer haunt Fleet Street with his presence, as Percy’s razor slid across his neck and he disappeared down the chute, never to be seen again.

Percy calmly wiped the blood from his blade, his smile glinting back at him from the razor’s reflective surface. As long as tonight’s plan went smoothly, they’d never have to be used for something as crude as murder ever again.

It was Credence’s turn now. Business hours were over, and the entirety of London was dark, lit only by a sliver of the moon. Despite these conditions, Credence still knew his way to Grindelwald’s house.

Gellert Grindelwald was a man who revelled in excess. It wasn’t enough just to have a rowhouse in the nicest part of London, it also had to be artfully styled with the most fashionable Classic architecture that Grindewald could buy. Normally, he would have scoffed at the thing, but right now, he was just thankful that Corinthian columns were so easy to scale. There were small imperfections where the two horizontal slices of the column joined each other that he was able to balance on.

He climbed onto the roof of the facade, quietly thankful that Modesty’s room was out front. Grindelwald loved to have her sit by the window, displayed like a butterfly behind glass.

Credence couldn’t see into her room, since the light had been turned off, but he rapped gently on her window. He held his breath, praying that she was still awake. There was a moment of silence before he finally saw Modesty’s face in the window. She was wearing her nightgown and her hair loose, flowing down to her waist.

She silently cracked the window open and pulled it slowly, allowing Credence to creep quietly inside.

“It’s tonight, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice hushed.

Credence nodded. “Tonight, yes. I promised I’d get you out of here, Mo, and I will.”

“You really shouldn’t have come this late,” she said, her voice louder this time. “You know that the Judge will catch you.”

Credence sat on the window sill, chuckled heartily. “Trust me, I’ve nothing to fear from Judge Grindelwald. What’s some old, washed-up lawman going to do to me?”

As if on cue, Judge Grindelwald rushed into Modesty’s room, weilding an oil lamp.

Grindelwald was a tall man, who perhaps would have been handsome in his younger years. Now his face was marred with deep wrinkles and greying stubble. Credence could even see the silvery chest hairs that stuck out beneath the swooping collar of his nightshirt.

The flickering flame gave the man’s face a threatening glow that made Credence tense up.

“And what are you doing here, boy?” he asked, his voice dripping with venom.

Credence took a breath and straightened. “You’re too late, Gellert. Modesty and I are already engaged to be married.”

The judge’s eyes were ablaze with anger as he bared his teeth. “You will pay for this, boy. You do  _ not _ trespass on a man’s property without his permission.”

Credence just gave him a devilish smile. “You want to punish me?” He unhooked the latch on the window and opened it, letting the cool night air and the dense smell of the city into Modesty’s room. Before Grindelwald could react, Credence swung his legs over the window sill. “I guess you’re just going to have to catch me.”

And with that he leapt from the window, onto the facade and then from the facade onto the ground. He fell hard on all fours, instinctually spreading the impact through both his hands and feet. Credence looked back at the thick, mahogany door of the house and as soon as he saw it crack open, he bolted.

Credence had grown up as a street urchin, after all. He was well-versed in the twisted streets of London and had successfully evaded angry shopkeepers and pickpocketing victims as a child. Those skills, as well as a mental map of the city, had drilled themselves into his very being.

He looked over his shoulder a couple times, just to see if the judge was following him. For an older man who’d hardly worked a day in his life, he was doing a remarkable job of keeping up.

Credence sped towards the entrance to Percival’s room. Within seconds, he was up the stairs with Grindelwald quick on his heels. He waited until Grindelwald was just within arm’s reach before ducking into the barber shop.

The next moment was like something out of a penny dreadful. Percival was sitting at his desk, his face lit only by the flickering light of an oil lamp. He was sharpening one of his razors and looked up at the sound of the door.

Grendelwald visibly blanched, which brought Credence a deep sense of satisfaction.

Percival walked over, not even bothering to close the razor. “Why hello there, Your Honour. It’s odd to see you here so late.”

Credence stepped in front of the door, blocking Grindelwald’s exit.

Graves stepped forward and put both hands on the Judge’s shoulders. “How does a shave sound?”

“Wha--”

Credence walked over and placed both his hands on the man’s shoulder, pinning him to the chair.

Graves walked over, his open razor reflecting the lamplight like hellfire. He pressed the blade of the thing to the Judge’s neck and leaned in close. “Do you remember me?” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

The Judge struggled against Credence’s grip for a moment before realisation flickered in his eyes. “Benjamin Barker,” he snarled. The only other sound he made was a weak gurgle as Percy’s razor bit into his neck. Blood dribbled down the front of his suit, soiling the expensive fabric.

It took only a moment for Grindelwald’s eyes to roll up into his head and his body to go limp in Credence’s grip.

The young man let go and stepped aside, allowing Percy to press the pedal on his chair that dropped the Judge’s body down the chute.

Credence took a breath and looked over at Percy. He looked like a demon fresh from Hell, his eyes burning with fury and his entire front splattered with Grindelwald’s blood.

He was incredibly handsome, stunning even, but he was a far cry from the kind barber Credence had once known.

Credence walked forward and embraced Percy. The man was completely still, almost petrified, but Credence still held him close, taking only the briefest moment to give him a peck on the lips.

“It’s over, Percy. It’s all over.”

  
  


They changed their clothes before hailing a cab, leaving the blood-soaked ones to burn in the remains of the fireplace. The blood was fresh enough that they could have just washed it out, but the night was growing older by the second.

The carriage they scheduled was out front right on time, and they hopped inside and instructed the diver to stop in front of the Judge’s house. Modesty was waiting in the threshold of the doorway for them, wearing a travelling cloak on top of a plain dress. She ran out as soon as she saw Credence in the carriage, her face lighting up.

Credence helped the girl onto the carriage and pointed over towards Graves. “Do you know who this is, Mo?”

She looked Percy over for a second, confusion twisting her delicate features, until it finally dawned on her.

“Papa?”

Graves’ eyes started to well up with tears. He didn’t say a word, just nodded before pulling her close and peppering her face with kisses.

Modesty’s face lit up and she hugged her father back.

Credence took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let his head rest on the back of his chair as the two of them caught up, swapping stories of Judge Grindelwald, Percy’s time in Australia, what it had been like in London while Percy was away…

He let out a contented sigh. Modesty was back with her father, and his Percy was happy. They were all escaping London together with more than enough money to get by.

His work here was done.

 

* * *

 

It was a dreary night when three strangers arrived in Liverpool. The fog obscured their figures as they made their way through the city. It was the innkeeper who was the first to get a good look at them: the leader of the party was a gentleman who was approaching fifty, travelling with a young man and a young lady. They’d checked in under the name “Barker.”

The gentleman, who’d introduced himself as “David,” was a widower. He rented a modest shop near the city centre and offered the finest shaves in town.

The young lady, supposedly Marina, was of marriageable age, and lived with her father until one of his regular customers took a fancy to her. He was a surgeon, and they loved each other dearly. She was married before she stayed in Liverpool a year.

The young man, apparently named Leon, never married. He ran errands for a baker near Barker’s barber shop before eventually taking over the whole bakery. He never married, though he hardly seemed to lament this.

Grindelwald’s body was only discovered in the bakehouse once it started to emit a scent so foul even Londoners couldn’t ignore it. Percival Graves and Credence Barebone had already been gone nearly a month, so the trail almost immediately went cold. Their fates remain unknown.

The building has been remodeled several times since this incident and now houses a candy store. Some say when the wind is just right, you can still smell Credence’s legendary meat pies when walking down Fleet Street.

The Judge, his body decomposed beyond recognition upon discovery, was buried in a pauper’s grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note about Victorian gravestones (because I'm a nerd):
> 
> At this time (the mid to late 1840's) large, gaudy graves were becoming quite common in this time period as the middle class started to show off more of their newly-accrued wealth. Massive monuments featuring angels and morning figures (especially women) were quite popular during Queen Victoria's mourning years, which this fic precedes but are still an interesting piece of death history.
> 
> Even the modest headstone Credence buys for Lucy would have probably cost him an arm and a leg (assuming his undertaker friend didn't get a discount). The decorations on the gravestone are important too: the draped urn was a common motif of English graves as a reference to the Roman ritual of cremating the dead and covering their urn with a shroud. The cala lilies are a sneaky "fuck you" to Judge Grindelwald because they represent beauty and (more importantly) marriage. You may notice that neither of these symbols are outwardly religious and you would be right! Since the graves of those dreaded CATHOLICS tended to be decorated with crosses and saints and Bible quotes, Anglicans tended towards symbols from paganism and nature, which I wanted to represent on Lucy's grave also!
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all liked it! It ended up being so much longer than I expected it to be!

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to extend my sincerest apologies to Stephen Sondheim for how poorly I've adapted [A Little Priest](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L16j_6aRgPE&list=PL72299F7E3B7EBE71&index=11). Please go listen to the original. I tried, but it's just such an epic number, it's hard to do it justice.
> 
> Here are [my social media](https://linktr.ee/Binary_Sunset)


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